CHAPTER 24. MONDAY AUGUST 31, 00:00.
Over the next few weeks, Caramarin made several more trips to the lock up at Constanta docks and once, a longer journey to the beautiful city of Lviv near the Polish border. He saw why it was called the 'Florence of the East'. Green church domes and Italianate red tile roofs, but surrounded by grim Soviet era apartment blocks. Wished he could have spent more time there.
All the people he drove were young, attractive women. If you looked beneath the exhaustion and messiness from long distance travel, some were beautiful. All were drained, all were either frightened or at least apprehensive. All clutched their bags close to their bodies.
Some were Ukrainian, some Russian, some from the Central Asian countries and some from further east. One or two spoke no language that any member of the gang understood. From his time in the Caucasus, Oilfield thought one was speaking Kalmyk but he wasn't sure.
He never heard again from the Turkic girl, nor from the couple of other girls he passed his cell number onto. Wasn't flattering himself, figured they knew he wasn't after their bodies. But would have liked to hear they were safe. And so the worm of disquiet bored deeper into his mind. But the money was good and the booze and coke buried it deep.
Towards the end of the month, his brain was scrambled with the amount of chemicals floating about in his body. Getting hard to know what day it was. Didn't need to know, only that it was another trip down to Constanta.
This time, only three women waited at Maiorescu's new salon for collection. One, a slim, fair girl maybe only eighteen or nineteen, was clutching her stomach, her face a mask of pain. Instead of the usual minibus Maiorescu had hired a VW Passat. This time, only Oilfield was going with Caramarin.
Tense and edgy, coming down from his coke jag, his red eyes gritty and staring, Caramarin drove out of the city. The street lights flickered past monotonously. Oilfield settled down in the front passenger seat and quickly nodded off.
He turned round to the back seat.
"Can't you shut that girl up?" he snapped.
"She's in pain," one of the others said.
"Well, she's doing my head in. Keep her quiet, or else."
They cuddled the girl and held her tight and made soothing noises.
"And you two can shut up as well."
The car lapsed into sullen silence, broken only by the occasional moan from the back seat. He could feel the waves of animosity washing over him. Like he cared.
He stopped at the usual garage in Romania to give them a comfort break. By now, he'd calmed down a bit although still tired. He parked and opened the rear door for the girls.
"I'm sorry I shouted," he apologised. "Stress, but I'm sorry." He pointed to the lavatories then unscrewed the gas cap and unhooked the nozzle from the pump. He watched as the three girls walked across the forecourt, the two still supporting the teenager.
"Bad time of the month, that," he said to himself.
Paid for the gasoline, bought a few celeb magazines for the girls by way of apology. Had a can of soda. Where the hell were they? Looked at his watch. Gave them a few more minutes, then strolled over to the Ladies. He rapped on the door and opened it a few centimetres.
"Sorry to trouble you but we need to go soon. Everything okay in there?"
"No we're not. She's still bleeding."
Figured that out, he thought. "Look, we've got to go soon."
"Not yet, we can't."
"Do you need me to get anything for her? Y'know."
"No..."
"Well, hurry up then."
For fuck's sake. Women. He waited a few more minutes, looking at his watch every few seconds. Then knocked on the door again.
"I'm coming in, okay."
He ignored their protests and pushed open the door. The girl was crouching on her heels, leaning against the cubicle wall. One of the others was standing in front of her, holding her, trying to cover her from his sight, the other tried to push him out the door.
"What's going on?" Confused.
"You bastard, you fucking bastard, the lot of you," the woman pushing him shouted.
He looked at the woman, she was strong for her size. Her face was twisted with rage and fear. Caramarin shoved her off him. She reeled back into the toilets, slipped on the wet floor but stayed on her feet. The other two turned to face him but cowered away in terror.
Caramarin spread his arms wide, smiled, and tried to appear as non threatening as possible.
"Look, what's going on?" he repeated. "Tell me what's the problem, please."
"You bastards raped her. That's what happened."
He hadn't expected that.
"What! Who, when?"
"Don't tell me you don't know what's been done to her! You're part of the gang. How many have you raped, you bastard?"
"No-one. Who did this to her?"
"That old man with black hair and the big bald one with the goatee and tattoos."
Maiorescu and that psycho nutter Litovchenko. So that was what they were doing now.
"I had no idea. I'm only the driver." Sort of true. "What does she want to do?"
"She's still bleeding, you bastard, they really ripped her up inside. She needs a doctor."
Caramarin felt a draft behind him as the door opened.
"We'll get her seen to, when we get there, okay." Another voice. Oilfield stood there with his hand in his pocket. "We haven't got far to go and she'll be looked after."
"No, you bastard," said the woman. "She needs to go to the police, she needs a doctor."
"Yeah, when we get there," said Oilfield.
"We're not going with you." The other two girls looked up at their leader.
"No choice, bitch," Oilfield's fist slammed into her face knocking the woman down. She cried out. Blood now smeared her face from her cut lip.
As she struggled to recover and sit up, Caramarin turned to Oilfield. Saw that he was holding a small pistol, maybe a point three eight and was covering the women. The pistol wasn't exactly pointing at Caramarin either, but its barrel was sort of in the same general direction.
Caramarin offered his hand to the floored woman. She pushed it away and stood up. Wiped away the blood with her hand and spat between his boots.
"Hurry up, girls. Back to the car."
Oilfield held open the door and motioned them out with his gun. Caramarin stepped to the crouching teen who was moaning to herself but she shrugged off his hand like it was diseased and managed to stand without help. The other girls helped her over to the car.
"Nice ass," said Oilfield following behind. "Bet that was a nice tight slot. Should've cut myself a slice of that, too."
Caramarin felt like slugging him, but as the man had a pistol and a hair trigger temper he just kept silent. The girls got in the back again. Caramarin drove through the rest of the night, aware of Oilfield's pistol only just hidden under a map on his lap. Shortly after they left the garage, Oilfield sent several texts, but never said who they were to.
In the dark hour before dawn, when tiredness is at its peak, they drew up at the Constanta lock up. Caramarin beeped the horn. This time two women came out of the lock up, the smartly dressed older woman he'd seen every time before and a younger one with a round, friendly face. No sign of the young man this time.
"Don't say, anything, okay," Oilfield told Caramarin. As the man was still holding the pistol, Caramarin just nodded.
He opened the rear door, but looking at the disgust on the girls' faces he just stepped away. The teenage victim stood bravely, holding her head up. In the headlights, she still looked in pain but some of the horror had now left her face. Caramarin opened the trunk and passed them their bags.
"Good luck," he said. The girls ignored him and followed the older woman into the lock up.
"Job done. Let's go," said Oilfield. Caramarin fired up the Passat, swung round, the headlights arcing through the night and headed back up the dock road.
"Wish I'd had a piece of that. Nice and tight," said Oilfield. "Should've asked the boss..."
"Shut up."
"Touchy, aren't you?"
Caramarin wasn't about to start a row with Oilfield, especially not when the man had a pistol on him. And, if his boss was into raping girls; what could, or would, he do about it? Also, he was exhausted from the long drive. Instead he concentrated on the road. But this wasn't what he'd signed on for.
Wished he had some coke on him to help him think.